


Nine Million Bicycles

by CalicothePirateGoat



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 22:29:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4852961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalicothePirateGoat/pseuds/CalicothePirateGoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had promised Jongdae that once the song was done, he'd sing for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nine Million Bicycles

**A/N:**  Throughout the summer period, I have spent a lot of time at my parents'. Meaning lot of opportunities to drive around in my dad's car and that brought many hours of listening to Katie Melua who he's a big fan of. Now, me as well. I sense a story behind all of her songs and I love singing along.  
ANYWAY. The song is ['Nine Million Bicycles'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eHQG6-DojVw) \- if you haven't yet, go check out the [lyrics](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/katiemelua/ninemillionbicycles.html) for it :)!

**Please be aware of the 'Creator choose not to use archive warnings' Warning!!**

* * *

 

“Thank you for being here today. It means a lot to me,” he says quietly into the microphone put in front of him for this little performance, as he tunes the guitar to sound exactly like he wants it to.

The people present are quiet, waiting for him to begin. Finishing up the spinning on the guitar-handles attached to the strings, he looks up and flashes the crowd a melancholic smile.

His heart feels heavy, but at the same time incredibly empty. This wasn’t like he had imagined it to be, not without _him_ in front of him, hearing it. It’s not the same. It won’t ever be the same. It simply feels wrong. It was supposed to be for him, dammit.

When he looks up at the paper on the holder in front of him, his eyes fall on the black, oblong box and his throat goes dry. He doesn’t know for how long he looks at it, following the lines in the wood with his eyes. He feels like giving up already, because he _can’t_ do this.

He steels himself. He _has_ to.

For Jongdae.

It’s all for him after all. Every person that ever cared for them, is here. Family. Friends.

_He sits on their shared bed with a frown, his guitar in front of him as he looks at the paper and rules out a line with the pen. Then he puts it down and tries out the new tones on the instrument. It goes on like that until he faintly hears the door open and close._

_“What are you writing?” A voice asks, and when Yixing looks up from his papers, he finds his boyfriend, Kim Jongdae, looking at him. He flashes him a soft smile and then turns his eyes back to the guitar._

_“A song,” he replies, before brushing his fingers over the strings again, which creates a new, interesting collection of sounds. He stops, and then looks at Jongdae with a ‘maybe?’ expressed in his face as he tries it again. Jongdae smiles at him._

_“What kind of song?” At this, Yixing shrugs. “I don’t know yet. Love, maybe?”_

_The younger one chuckles. “Oh, what do you know about love, then?” he teases, while stepping closer._

_Yixing smirks, seeing all the signs that tell him the other is up to something. The wry smile, the twinkle in his eyes._

_He puts the paper into the drawer beside the bed and lays the guitar down in its case. By the time he looks up again, Jongdae stands in front of him, eyes following his every move, expression softened as he tangles his hand in Yixing’s hair. It sends a shiver through Yixing, who reaches out to pull Jongdae closer, trapping him between his legs and resting his hands on his hips._

_They share a moment like this, communicating without words. Yixing holds his breath as his gaze wander on the creation that is Kim Jongdae, tracing his features. His curly, brown hair, his beautiful smile. His lean, strong body which to Yixing, is breath-taking._

_And it’s all his._

_“What I know about love?” he asks slowly, running a hand down the other’s arm. Jongdae hums, wordlessly letting him know he’s listening, waiting._

_“I guess it can be many different things,” he whispers, sneaking a hand under the younger’s t-shirt, feeling how the muscles briefly tense under his touch, before they relax. Jongdae closes his eyes and tilts his head back, leaning slightly into the touch._

_Yixing thinks about ruining him then, unravelling him, which shoots pleasure up his spine._

_“Like what?” Jongdae asks in a low tone and Yixing lets his hand, which is not under the shirt, run up the other’s arm, to his triceps, slowly pulling him closer. Jongdae opens his eyes and the two of them lock gazes._

_“Maybe a kiss?” he murmurs, breaking their eye contact to look at Jongdae’s lips, how they part on a breath, how his tongue darts out to run along the bottom lip._

_Jongdae hums again in agreement and closes the last distance between them, pressing his mouth gently against Yixing’s. He sighs contentedly and Yixing smiles. He wants to treasure times like this forever._

_And it doesn’t stop here. The next moment, he is pushed down onto the bed with Jongdae joining him a breath later._

He forces his eyes away from the black wood and looks around at the other people in the room. He catches his mother’s gaze, who looks back at him with an encouraging smile and tears in her eyes. In her hands, she has a blood red rose and a blue line that runs to the floor and along it before attaching to a collar in black leather.

Molly. Their little golden retriever that Jongdae had wanted so badly, but Yixing had thought of it differently – he had always been more of a cat person, he thought. Wouldn’t a dog be too much work? But Jongdae had managed to convince him - he always got his way eventually - and once Yixing had given into his reasoning and pleading, he had dragged him to the store. Half a year ago. It had taken some time to get used to having her around.

_Jongdae is out with his friend Baekhyun, so Yixing is alone with the puppy in the living room. Sitting on the floor with his guitar, engrossed in the sounds that he’s trying to convert into music, he lets the puppy explore the room._

_Suddenly the sound of something being torn apart reaches Yixing’s ears, and his fingers come to a halt, killing the soft tunes as he looks around for the source._

_His eyes lands on Molly, and then he sees the papers beneath the puppy. With a frown, he puts the guitar aside and stands, hurriedly walking over to try and save the papers from the little, fluffy monster._

_He hisses loudly and annoyed when he sees what she’s dragged down from the sofa table and shredded to pieces. His song. The song he wanted to make for Jongdae. What if it can’t be done in time because of this? There’s no way he can look at the notes and see exactly what he’s written. He has to do it all over, because something’s missing._

_“What’s wrong?” he hears from the hallway, along with the familiar sounds of Jongdae kicking off his shoes and dropping his bag on the floor. Not much later, Jongdae comes into the living room with a worried expression._

_“That stupid dog has ruined it!” Yixing groans, overwhelmed by sudden fury. He runs a hand through his hair in aggravation, and Jongdae raises an eyebrow as he bends down to pick up the pup._

_“Daddy’s mad at you, Molly,” he murmurs into her fur, and Yixing narrows his eyes at them. Molly licks the younger’s cheeks in greeting and it just annoys him._

_Everything about that damned dog gets on his nerves right now._

_“Why are you smothering her like that, when she’s done something wrong?” he snaps, causing Jongdae to jump in surprise. Then Jongdae frowns at him, before irritation sinks into his expression._

_“Jesus, it’s just a fucking paper. Get over it! You can make it again. It’s not like it’s gone forever!” he throws back at Yixing. Yixing glares him, then the dog, and then he walks off to their bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Jongdae yells after him, tells him to stop acting like a five-year-old throwing a tantrum and letting it out on others, but Yixing pretends it doesn’t get past the door._

_It’s not just a paper._

_It’s the whole proposal and he needs the song for it. He was trying to make it perfect. But Jongdae’s also right, about not letting it out on others, because you get some adversity. The puppy didn’t know better, either._

_He can write it again if he collects the paper and pieces it together. Probably._

_Besides, how can it be perfect if he chases Jongdae away before it happens?_

_He walks to the door just as it opens, revealing Jongdae behind it – and the dog. He looks a bit sullen, and it makes Yixing sad. Because he caused it._

_“I’ll walk the dog,” he says, but Yixing shakes his head._

_“No, let me. I’m sorry for being an ass to you. It wasn’t my intention, it’s just -“ Yixing blabbers, already leaning in to take the dog and leash from Jongdae, but the younger interrupts him before he can finish._

_“Weeks of work – I get it. I’m sorry, too.” Then he pecks Yixing on the cheek and lets him take the dog._

_When Yixing gets back, he finds the shredded paper put back together with tape on the dinner table. In the corner, three Korean characters are scribbled down, unmistakably Jongdae’s writing._

**_Saranghae._ **

He clears his throat, fingers running over the guitar to pull forth the first soft notes of the song. He promised Jongdae this, so this is what’s he’s going to do.

Even if he didn’t plan it to be like this. It hurts, reality. His love, down in a coffin, about to be put away. Jongdae is never going to hear the song, but Yixing pretends that he’s sitting right beside him, his head resting on Yixing’s shoulder, like they used to sit when Yixing sang to him in the evenings. Sometimes, Jongdae sang, too.

_“Can I hear the song?” Jongdae asks him one day, a Saturday, when they’re still in bed even if it’s around noon. Yixing hugs him closer and pretends that he’s thinking about it. But he’s decided. Jongdae’s the only one who’ll listen to it. It’s a song for him._

_“Of course,” he murmurs, pecking Jongdae’s lips. “Sometime when it’s done, okay?”_

_He’ll sing it on his birthday, and then he’ll present the ring and propose._

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes while his fingers continue to play on the guitar. He knows the melody by heart now. It’s one of the melodies that hasn’t been broken.

The muse is gone now, so the melodies don’t want to work for him.

He tries to focus on the song, tries to find the strength to do this without ruining everything, without breaking down.

 _“There are nine million bicycles in Beijing,”_ he begins and smiles sadly of the memories of times when he and Jongdae would bicker about the stupidest things – like what was relevant and what was not, what was entertaining and what wasn’t.

That particular line about the nine million bicycles in Beijing was something he had found out on Google, while randomly surfing on the internet because he’d been bored.

A memory. Faint. _“You’re so ridiculous, who wants to know stuff like this?”_

_“That's a fact, it's a thing we can't deny. Like the fact that I will love you till I die.”_

The words taste weird in his mouth and he heaves a sigh, trying to keep his composure, but it’s so hard when everything hurts. Why did it have to be _him?_

_“We are twelve billion light years from the edge, that's a guess. No one can ever say it's true. But I know that I will always be with you.”_

_They have climbed their way to the roof on their old school and sit watching the stairs._

_“It’s so beautiful. I wonder where it ends,” Jongdae mutters._

_“Well, we can only guess. It won’t hurt anybody, since it’s just you and me,” Yixing replies with a little grin before hugging Jongdae a little tighter. He wants to stay like this forever._

But where are they now? The edge was closer than they anticipated. He misses Jongdae. He misses him so much.

_“I'm warmed by the fire of your love every day. So don't call me a liar, just believe everything that I say.”_

He’s cold, but he doesn’t know where to seek out the warmth that’s been taken away. Like someone put out the fire while he was sleeping near it, and there’s no more wood.

He’s going to die like this. He’s going to die without Jongdae. He can’t stand it here without him. Why did he have to leave him to fend for himself?

_Jongdae kisses him goodbye with a smile and puts on his running jacket. Yixing was supposed to run with him today, but work makes it difficult._

_“It’s okay – we can run together tomorrow,” Jongdae promises and waves at him before leaving._

_Yixing starts boiling some water for tea and goes to the window to see if he can spot Jongdae. It’s a little bit open, so he hears them first._

_Then he sees him from the window, standing outside with Molly. He stops and bends to tie his shoes properly – why didn’t he take care of that inside? - while trying to keep Molly still. They stand in front of their car, parked in the side of the street, waiting for the red lights to turn green so they can cross and get to the park on the other side._

_Molly’s pulling too much on the line._

_“Molly, keep still, I’m trying to- God dammit, no, stay here!” he yells after her when she succeeds in pulling away from his grasp._

_The lights still aren’t green, and Jongdae doesn’t see the car speeding towards the intersection._

_He runs after the dog, even if Yixing screams for him not to do so. The fear paralyzes him, he can’t breathe, but worst of all, he can’t do_ anything.

_Too late, Jongdae notices the car, and the dog’s already on the other side. The next many moments happen too fast, filled with screeching tires that can’t stop in time on the slippery ground._

_Jongdae dies early next morning on the hospital, his wounds too severe._

_“There are six billion people in the world. More or less, and it makes me feel quite small. But you're the one I love the most of all.”_

The tears can’t be stopped. They move on their own, down his cheeks. Miraculously, his voice hasn’t broken yet, but he struggles to breathe properly. The room’s suffocating him, the people, the reason they’re all here, the coffin on the floor amidst the line of flowers.

He feels like he’s being torn apart. And the one who’s good at picking up the pieces and taping them together isn’t here anymore.

Yixing didn’t even get to say good bye.

* * *

 

 **A/N:** I'm so sorry *runs*


End file.
